


possessed by light

by urineblonde (orphan_account)



Series: night rather than day [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stardust, M/M, Rimming, fake joseon era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 06:06:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14490474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/urineblonde
Summary: Laugh at this night, laugh at the moon, laugh at this silly boy that loves you—In which Doyoung gets his heart's desire. (A Stardust AU)





	possessed by light

**Author's Note:**

> title from richard siken's 'scheherazade', summary from pablo neruda's 'your laughter' (I'M BASIC WITH POETRY WHO CARES as long as it's not lang leav)
> 
> I wrote all this in about 7-ish hours so it's obviously unedited lmao also if you're familiar with the story then you should know how this part ends and honestly yeah it's weird but bear with me I just had to write this… I miss dotae… my og otp…

There’s a wall to the east of Doyoung’s village. For any newcomer, this wall is a thing of curiosity, standing as tall as a grown man, not thick, not impenetrable. They stop to gawk and to ask if anybody’s ever gone past it to see what’s on the other side, stopping right at the gap in the wall and feeling the coolness of the structure underneath their palms, papery like all the other houses in the village. Hardly anyone goes past the wall, a villager tells them. For safety, for fear of the unknown. Sometimes, someone would walk right across the whole village and stop in front of the gap—those are who get through, the ones who seem like there is no stopping them.

Every nine years, a fair comes to the other side of the wall. It’s then that the guards are let down, and the villagers leave their work behind to check what’s there, lured by the noise and the smell of spices. The lights in the fair make it seem like summer would never end, bright enough to draw people of all kinds to the village.

Doyoung, now an adult, has no idea of what he wants from the fair, but the excitement inside him thrums as he goes home after dropping off Sejeong at her house. He bumps into a foreigner, his skin as black as charcoal with such a sheen to it, and forgets his words but not his courtesy, bowing as an apology.

“Do you know if there’s any lodging left?” the foreigner asks.

“I’m… not sure. Normally everything’s full the day before the fair opens,” Doyoung explains. “Last time, we let a woman who said she came from the desert stay with us.” She left a hefty sum for Doyoung’s family, enough to buy food for the rest of the year with leftover for new clothes. She also made dinner one night, using spices she brought with her, and Doyoung remembers the spices on his tongue, searing yet with a deep richness from being bloomed in fat. He startles himself with the clarity of a memory he was so sure he’d forgotten.

“May I intrude upon you in the same way?” the foreigner then asks.

“I don’t think it’ll be a problem,” Doyoung says, then offers to take his bags. “My house isn’t too far from the wall either.”

“How much do you want in return for your hospitality?”

“I haven’t really thought about that…” Doyoung bites on his bottom lip then begins to chew on it. The bags are heavy, perhaps heavier than they should be for their size. “You’re going to the fair, yes?”

The foreigner looks at him with a sly grin. “Is that what you want? A little touch of magic?” Doyoung isn’t too sure, but he nods. “Very well. By tomorrow evening, you’ll get what your heart desires. My name is Zain, and you may hold me on to that.”

“Zain,” Doyoung repeats a little numbly, perplexed that nothing comes to mind at the mention of a heart’s desire yet it sounds too good to refuse.

They arrive at Doyoung’s house. Doyoung puts the bags inside his room, making a mental note to explain to Gongmyung later, perhaps with the added sweetness of the fat copper coins Zain deposits on his palm.

“I assume this is enough?” Zain says.

Doyoung notices that he has more in his little silk pouch, the clinking inside soft and muffled. “It’s more than enough,” he answers. “Especially for such poor lodgings.”

“I assure you I’ll do nothing but come back to sleep,” Zain tells him. He has that sly grin back on his face with a wink to match. His teeth are brilliantly white, like a crescent moon on a deep night. Is this what comes from going to the fair, this confidence and charm? Zain breaks Doyoung out of his thoughts by continuing, “Something tells me you’ll do the same.”

 

 

“Morning,” Doyoung says to Gongmyung, who was having tea on the porch, his legs tucked under him while the fabric of his clothes pool on the floor. It’s his best silk, shimmering slightly in the morning sun, and even in the sweltering heat, Doyoung finds himself donning his best, too, and the slide of the silk against the sweat beading up on his legs is uncomfortable.

“Morning,” Gongmyung mumbles back. “Where’s the money our guest left?”

“Here,” Doyoung says as he reaches into his pocket for the two copper coins. He gives one to Gongmyung and keeps the other for himself, watching Gongmyung inspect his by placing it on top of the flat ends of his chopsticks.

“This is good,” Gongmyung hums in approval. “I can buy something pretty for Soojung later.”

“Will you propose to her?” Doyoung asks. With his fingers, he picks up a rice cake from the little platter then pours himself a cup of tea. As promised, Zain was gone before either Doyoung or Gongmyung had woken up, presumably to go to the fair to sell whatever is in the large bags. That also meant that neither of the brothers bothered with preparing a proper breakfast.

Gongmyung frowns into his tea. “I want to, but I don’t think she’s the marrying sort.”

“No?”

“She’s easily above anyone else here,” Gongmyung says. Jung Soojung is the daughter of the biggest merchant in town and oversees the store their family owns in the village. Goods come to and from Hanseong and into that store, where one can get chopsticks made of gold and ginseng and swallow’s nest from China, things beyond the village itself. “In any case, I enjoy her company, and if she enjoys mine, that’s enough for me.”

“You’d have to marry eventually,” Doyoung points out.

“You, too,” Gongmyung retorts. “Are you getting something for Sejeong?”

“Of course.” Doyoung knows Sejeong doesn’t care much for pretty things, but there are other, magical things, things that can make her laugh. He finishes his tea in one gulp then gets up, helping Gongmyung bring the empty dishes into the kitchen for washing. “Don’t spend it all,” Doyoung reminds his brother, earning him a smack on the back of his head and a good-natured laugh.

 

 

Doyoung and Gongmyung part ways at the gap, Gongmyung lured by the music being played by a woman and her goat and Doyoung by the sight of delicately painted eggshells.

“These have storms inside of them,” the shopkeeper tells Doyoung.

At the risk of looking ignorant, Doyoung keeps quiet, but wonders how those work as he wades through the seemingly endless stalls.

“Bottled dreams! Dreams of all kinds!”

“Try your luck today! Fabulous prizes in store for you! Just step up and roll the dice!”

“Everlasting cloth! Cotton, wool, and silk!”

“Dragon eggs!”

Above the din of the marketplace, there’s a tinkling, like soft bells, clear and crisp. Doyoung’s ears perk up, walking deeper into the fair in search of the sound. As he walks past the different displays of flying carpets, blue fires, and clothes that shine and ripple like water, the sound becomes louder and louder, till—

“What will it be for you today?” the shopkeeper asks. Doyoung hears his voice before he sees him, sees a man set himself gracefully down to the ground from the caravan. He has a small, delicate face and big, round eyes that Doyoung thinks he can see the stars in. His jawline is sharp, and if Doyoung traces it up with his eyes, he can see the pretty curve of his ears that peek through his black hair. They’re like a cat’s ears, soft and covered in a fine, mauve-coloured fur, the insides a dainty pink.

Like a girl, Doyoung wants to think, but this is a different kind of beautiful—ethereal, definitely something that can only be beyond the wall.

He smiles up at Doyoung, treading closer to him on light feet. “Not quite sure what you want yet?” he asks. His voice is so gentle and quiet, blending in smoothly with the tinkling of the glass flowers that Doyoung is now only just seeing. There are so many of them, all looking as if they’re on a meadow, swaying in the breeze, all looking as if they’re not made of glass.

Doyoung picks one up. It’s a flower he doesn’t recognise, a deep red with petals that look almost like paper. It was at that moment that Zain passes by him, places a hand on his shoulder, and says, “My payment is complete.”

“This is a rose, from England,” the shopkeeper explains as he places a hand on Doyoung’s. His fingers have this strange cooling sensation that Doyoung finds comforting in the awful humid summer, and he leans into the touch a bit more. “The real things have a very lovely fragrance to them.”

“I… I wouldn’t know, I—” Doyoung stammers, making him laugh. He sees a pale purple one, almost white in its paleness, and picks it up. “How about this one?”

“It’s an orchid,” the shopkeeper tells him. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they? They grow in the tropics.” Doyoung can only stare at him. “There are only two seasons in the tropics—hot and rainy. What’s your name?”

“Dongyoung,” Doyoung answers.

“It’s a nice name.”

“I go by Doyoung nowadays.”

The shopkeeper eyes him with a smile. “Yes, that rolls off the tongue better. I like that, Doyoung.”

“How about you? What’s your name?”

“Can you keep a secret, Kim Doyoung?” Doyoung jolts, retreating a few steps and nearly crashing into someone’s display of crystal balls.

“I—” Doyoung must have slipped out his last name somewhere, he thinks, when he was trapped in the shopkeeper’s gaze. “I can… I promise.”

“I thought so, too,” the shopkeeper says happily. He crooks his finger for Doyoung to come closer, curling his hand around the back of Doyoung’s neck when he does. The scent of him, something floral and something deeper, muskier, is so heady that Doyoung feels like the ground beneath him is shifting. “My name is Taeyong, but right now I’m a slave. I’ll forget my name soon.”

“Why are you here?” Doyoung asks. Taeyong looks so sad now, becoming even smaller. Doyoung’s sad, too, that Taeyong let him go, now that he feels like holding Taeyong close to him.

“I was stolen as a child and turned into a slave for a petty, awful witch,” he answers. “I won’t be free until the moon loses her child on the week that the sun learns to love a goat.”

“Are you hopeful?”

“Of course. I await the day of my freedom with great patience.” Taeyong hums, then, searching the collection for something he can show to Doyoung. “How about this one? This might be something you recognise.”

It’s a pasque flower with deep red, almost purple, petals that taper together into a bulbous shape. Doyoung has seen them bloom in spring by the meadows. With reservation, he takes it from Taeyong’s fingers.

“This will protect you,” Taeyong says. “It’s a reminder that spring will always come.”

“How much?” Doyoung takes out the copper coin from his pocket and tries to give it to Taeyong, who rejects it gently.

“Your money’s no good here.”

This is the fear, Doyoung thinks, of when the people from beyond the wall ask for something you’re not sure you can give. “What can I give you, then?”

Taeyong grins, almost impishly, and he looks so beautiful like this, bright and pretty and playful. “How about I take the colour of your hair?” he teases.

“I don’t—I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

“How about your voice, then? You’ll only be able to speak in whispers.”

Gongmyung might like the idea, but Doyoung has to shake his head.

As if he’s run out of options, Taeyong suggests, “How about a kiss on my cheek?”

Doyoung’s face breaks off into a smile. “I can definitely give you that!” he declares. Taeyong presents to him his bare cheek, skin pale and an addicting kind of smooth when Doyoung presses his lips against it, like kissing plush velvet.

Taeyong looks up at him again, his eyes shining this time, and Doyoung’s heart drops to his chest, a violent red heating up the tips of his ears. “Meet me by the lake later tonight, when the moon is high up in the sky,” he says, almost breathlessly. “But don’t call for me. Hoot like a small owl. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Doyoung replies, feeling like the wind’s knocked out of him, entire body in a heady rush. “Tonight.”

“Keep safe in the meanwhile, Kim Doyoung,” Taeyong says, curling Doyoung’s fingers over the stem of the flower so he doesn’t leave it behind.

 

 

“Isn’t this the flower that grows in our backyards?” Sejeong teases him with a laugh. She brought him food to nibble on while they enjoy the day walking around the village, and Doyoung can barely taste it, can barely even see in front of him.

“This one’s made of glass,” Doyoung points out.

“Yes, I know. It’s pretty. And when you look at it, you’d think it’s going to be very soft…” Sejeong traces the petals with a slim finger, smiling unabashedly. “It’s remarkable. I think this is only something you can get beyond the wall.”

“Do you like it?”

“I do. Very much. Thank you, Doyoung.”

Doyoung takes the flower from her hands and fixes it into her hair. Then, he places a kiss on her soft cheek, taking in the scent of her perfume and the slight sweetness of the rice powder on her face. His hand cups her face, thumb brushing lightly on her jaw. He pulls away just as slowly and his hand returns to his lap.

She blushes so beautifully, Sejeong, her cheeks turning a fair pink on the high points. “There’s something different about you today,” she says.

“Hm?”

“You seem… gentler, I think. Tender.”

Doyoung smiles at her. “Will I see you again tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

 

 

“What was that?” Gongmyung demands over makgeolli, Doyoung pouring it into their cups. “I heard you kissed Sejeong.”

“Yes…”

“What for?”

“I don’t know… I just felt like it.”

Gongmyung laughs and claps Doyoung on the back. “You’re quiet today, too. The fair got you in a daze?” When Doyoung only takes a sip from his drink, Gongmyung says, “Were you touched? By someone?”

“What do you mean?”

“The people beyond the wall… They can cast spells sometimes, you know. They enchant and bewitch.”

“Is that why we’re afraid of them?”

“Would you trust anybody who could bewitch you?”

The sun’s setting and the two brothers have just had their dinner. Gongmyung says he’s going to sleep early, tired from all the walking. He’d found nothing Soojung could want, and he’d like to come back early the next morning to go looking some more. Doyoung bids him good night then puts his coat over his clothes, walking back to the gap in the wall, past the forest of thin trees.

He ends up by the lake, far enough from the fair that the lights and the noise no longer reach him and everything’s only illuminated by moonlight. He sits himself and cups his mouth, emitting a soft hooting sound. A few moments later, Taeyong’s lithe form appears from behind a tree. Doyoung notices the chain tied to his bare ankle, the moment when Taeyong revealed to him that he was a slave for a witch not registering till he hears the metallic clink and Taeyong just faces him with the same sad gaze, his features looking more soft and ethereal in the darkness.

“You sounded like a strangled bird,” Taeyong says with a giggle. “Was that your best owl expression?”

In a much softer tone, Doyoung hoots again, and the laughter that’s elicited out of Taeyong sounds like bells.

“I’ll let you pass this once,” Taeyong says. He lies down on the grass, and Doyoung lies down beside him, on his side so he’s facing Taeyong and not really looking anywhere else.

“Did you bewitch me?” Doyoung finally asks.

“Did I?” Taeyong counters. He shifts so he he’s also lying on his side and he traces the curve of Doyoung’s cheek with his finger. “Is that what you want to believe, Kim Doyoung?”

Doyoung traps Taeyong’s hand, keeping the palm of it pressed against his face. “No…” His train of thought is losing itself faster than he’d like as Taeyong runs a foot over his calf, hooking himself against Doyoung with a leg on his hip.

“What do you want, Doyoung?”

“You,” Doyoung answers, “I think.” He can’t take his eyes off of Taeyong, his lips parting when Taeyong traces the curve of his mouth with his thumb. “What do you want?”

“My freedom.”

The chain glints, teasing Doyoung with it. He grabs it and tries to break with his bare hands, but Taeyong only shakes his head.

“It’s made with cat’s breath, fish scales, and moonlight, unbreakable until the terms of the spell are broken,” Taeyong says. “I don’t really mind, you see. I can still go a distance… It’s just not enough to go back home…” He quiets down, his small shoulders shaking, and it’s then that Doyoung realises he’s crying, tears leaving shiny streaks on his face.

Doyoung shushes him and pulls him close, letting Taeyong sob on his shoulder. Taeyong clings on to him like he’s drowning, grasping at the silk of Doyoung’s robes with unsteady hands while Doyoung just pats down Taeyong’s hair, feeling the soft ears between his fingers.

When Taeyong pulls away, his eyes are rimmed with red, high flush to his cheeks, but beautiful nonetheless. He leaves Doyoung no time to behold him, pulling him into a kiss that makes Doyoung feel like he’s on fire, burning all the way down to his fingertips as he chases Taeyong’s slick, soft mouth.

Doyoung had kissed before, but nothing like this, the mess and the aching need. Taeyong groans and parts his lips, begging Doyoung’s tongue to enter his mouth. He rolls himself onto his back and pulls Doyoung with him so that Doyoung hovers over him, their tongues meeting again in a way that makes Doyoung shiver.

“Please,” Taeyong pants, nibbling on Doyoung’s bottom lip for good measure. Doyoung lets out a groan, hips rolling into Taeyong, and he grips at the fabric of Taeyong’s robes, pushing them up, up, up, baring pale thighs that Doyoung moves down to lick and suck the skin at. “Yes, that’s it,” Taeyong sighs, fingers tangling themselves into Doyoung’s hair.

As Doyoung moves further up, he’s confronted by Taeyong’s entrance, the light dusting of hair around it. It makes him pause, long enough that Taeyong became impatient, emitting a low whine from the back of his throat and pulling at Doyoung’s hair, guiding him closer and Doyoung opens his mouth timidly, licking a small stripe up the entrance.

Taeyong shouts. He wriggles his hips closer to Doyoung’s mouth, voice breaking the more he coos encouragements to Doyoung, who’s learned to use the tip of his tongue to press inside, leaving Taeyong a breathless, giggling wreck above him. Doyoung grips on to Taeyong’s thighs to keep him steady as his mouth wanders, sucking on the flesh of Taeyong’s inner thigh, running a tongue up the shaft of his cock to suck on the head. Taeyong keens and thrashes.

“Please, Doyoung,” Taeyong begs. He pulls Doyoung back up to him so he can plant a kiss on Doyoung’s swollen mouth, his hands eagerly bunching up Doyoung’s clothes to reveal his own cock, hard and red, bobbing against his stomach. Taeyong wraps his fingers around it and begins to stroke, the feeling of it so good that all Doyoung can do is give a strangled groan against Taeyong’s mouth, letting Taeyong guide him to his entrance.

At the first push, they both let out a heavy moan. Doyoung had never thought the pressure of Taeyong’s tight heat on his cock would be this good, and Taeyong’s mewling, wrapping his legs around Doyoung’s waist so Doyoung could go deeper, then he pulls Doyoung in to place sloppy kisses all over his face.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Taeyong groans, tapering off when Doyoung brings a hand down to stroke his cock, thumb rubbing against the slit.

Doyoung’s knees feel so weak, desire pooling into his joints. In another thrust, he was releasing inside of Taeyong, Taeyong’s legs keeping him in place as he rolls his hips, riding it out. Taeyong follows not long after, leaking all over Doyoung’s knuckles. He reaches for Doyoung’s hand and licks it clean, taking each finger into his mouth to suck the seed off with great care. Once more, Doyoung can feel himself getting light in the head.

They fix themselves up, lowering their robes into a more decorous state. Then Taeyong curls up against Doyoung’s chest, tracing patterns on Doyoung’s stomach.

“This was… my first time,” Doyoung mentions, and Taeyong is again sent into laughter, the softness of it brushing against his skin, but he twines his fingers with Doyoung’s anyway, letting Doyoung lift joined hands up to his mouth to kiss Taeyong’s knuckles.

It’s quiet after that, with the world lulled to sleep. Doyoung would have been, too, if not for Taeyong looking at him, smiling softly then kissing him again and again until dawn began to break through the leaves, reflecting off of the glittering lake.

“I don’t want to leave,” Doyoung grouses. Taeyong only laughs, like he always does.

“Live your life, Kim Doyoung,” Taeyong says. He gets up first, letting Doyoung shuffle onto his feet. Doyoung walks him back to the caravan, where Taeyong plants one more kiss on his lips, and Doyoung’s feet carry him back home.

 

 

“You’ve been moping for too long,” Gongmyung complains. He places a bowl of broth with simmered radishes and a bowl of rice in front of Doyoung, clicking his tongue when Doyoung doesn’t automatically get his chopsticks and dig in. “You’ve upset Sejeong and her family, do you know that?”

Doyoung only takes a sip of broth.

“If you don’t go see her today, I’ll drag you there myself,” Gongmyung further threatens. He eats his own bowl of rice with such viciousness that Doyoung is momentarily shaken out of his stupor. “I’m telling you, you’ve been bewitched.”

“I wasn’t,” Doyoung mumbles. It’s love, it has to be.

“Go see Sejeong,” Gongmyung says finally. “Say sorry to her.”

“I’ll do it later today.”

“I shouldn’t even be telling you to do this,” Gongmyung grumbles. “You’re smarter than this, Doyoung.”

 

 

Gongmyung and Soojung get married towards summer’s end. At the ceremony, Doyoung proposes to Sejeong, and they get married on a crisp autumn day, surrounded by the reddening trees. She’s wearing the glass flower in her hair and a chill runs through Doyoung’s fingers, but he assures her it’s just her radiance and beauty.

As the days go by, life becomes more real. He finally grows into loving Sejeong, kissing her without prompt. That always sends a pretty blush up her cheeks and ears, making her swat him away, but she brings him closer to her just as fast.

 

 

It’s a rainy day, carrying on through the night. There was a knock on Doyoung’s door, but he mistakes it for the rapping of the raindrops against the wood. And he continues to do so till a loud, shrill cry pierces through, startling Sejeong.

“What was that?” Sejeong asks.

“Can it…?” Doyoung puts down his book.

“It sounds like a baby.” She stands up the same time Doyoung does, and together, they open the door, finding indeed a baby perched on their doorstep, covered in silk that it clutches at with the tiniest fingers. A glass orchid is swaddled within the silk, and Doyoung pockets it before Sejeong notices, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Aren’t you the cutest?” Sejeong coos as she picks up the baby, trying to soothe his crying by letting him rest his head on her chest. A piece of paper falls out of the silk cloth, baring the characters _Lee Jeno_.

Doyoung picks it up then brings it inside, showing it to Sejeong.

“Was this meant for us?” Sejeong asks Doyoung. She looks smitten.

“I think so.”

**Author's Note:**

> [please bully me into doing the main part](https://curiouscat.me/fractal)


End file.
